


Mar Solas

by emanthony



Series: Mar Lavellan [1]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-06
Updated: 2016-02-06
Packaged: 2018-05-18 12:20:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,414
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5928127
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emanthony/pseuds/emanthony
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A short tale of the beginnings of Mar Lavellan and Solas. An interpretation and reimagination of events from Dragon Age: Inquistion that culminates in one final, dark decision.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mar Solas

It was a moment six years in the making.

 

From the very first moment their eyes met in the cold dungeon at Haven, when Mar Lavellan, a Dalish elf with fair hair and dark skin, was weakened and barely conscious. The mark was freshly minted in his hand. He looked up and saw pointed ears, a hairless head, and eyes deep in focus.

 

“What --” Mar said, before blackness fell over him again.

 

From their first actual meeting, not long after, when Mar was still weak but more conscious and aware. When Solas grabbed his wrist, thin bones gripped with surprising force, and he pressed the anchor towards the light of the rift torn in the sky. It closed with a deafening snap.

 

Mar, in pain, stunned, and doing all he could to hide the fear, gave reluctant thanks to him.

 

“My name is Solas, if there are to be introductions.”

 

“I --”

 

“We must hurry,” Cassandra broke in, words clipped, short, and stressed.

 

Demons attacked moments later, and Mar slipped hard and fast on the ice, and he saw the shadow of the creature climb high above him to strike --

 

A barrier of blue beamed around him, exactly perfectly timed, and he exhaled as the attack bounced off his form, harmless. The rest of the darkspawn were cut down and destroyed and Mar stood up, finally, trembling. And then he started watching Solas, because clues were being dropped, and he was picking them up without knowing where they were meant to lead.

 

“You did something back there,” Mar said to Solas when they were more alone, with Cassandra and the dwarf Varric farther ahead on the mountain pass. “At the first rift. You made the anchor work.”

 

“I did nothing,” Solas replied.

 

The corner of Mar’s mouth ticked up. “That’s not true.”

 

Solas gave him a wan look but said nothing else. And he said nothing else to Mar until much later, when he stood before a half-closed rift beneath the breach. He’d warned the group of demons. And then he warned Mar, “This might not work. The breach is powerful.”

 

“Are you saying that I might die?”

 

“I spent much time ensuring you lived through the first event. I will do my best to not have wasted that effort,” he said.

 

Mar lifted the discarded staff he’d found in one hand and outstretched his marked palm with the other. “Good luck with that, Solas.” A pause. “My name is Mar, by the way.”

 

The corner of Solas’ mouth ticked up into a smile. “Aneth ara, Mar.”

 

The rift exploded open and Mar doubled over with pain. That had been the easy part. Closing it -- he lifted his hand and the pain screamed from inside him, clutching his heart, cutting off his supply of air. His eyes flooded involuntarily with tears and he saw the world go white before he was blissfully cut from consciousness.

 

Cassandra had been the one to carry him out of the field, but Solas was the one who caught him there, before he could hit the ice.

 

* * *

 

It was a moment six years in the making.

 

“You fall asleep in ancient ruins?”

 

“I do.”

 

“Haven’t you ever been robbed?” Mar pressed on, aghast. The thick brown cloak he wore billowed out as a chilly gust of wind pulled down from the mountainside and he pulled it more tightly around himself.

 

“I put up wards, of course,” Solas said. He wore only his tunic and pants; not even shoes. The cold weather in Haven was unreliable -- from intolerably icy one day, to just comfortably balmy the next. And yet Solas looked rarely affected. He seemed content enough wherever he went, whatever he wore.

 

Mar wasn’t so unaffected, having lived in a place warm for most of the year all his life until now. “But spid --”

 

“If you leave out food, the giant spiders are happy to live and let live.”

 

Mar’s lips thinned and his blackish eyes narrowed. “I’m both impressed _and_  unsettled.”

 

Solas laughed, the sound a surprise to both of them.

 

Mar was smiling the smile that usually helped him get his way; all white teeth and his full lips and the golden tan skin outlined so carefully with the markings of Mythal. “Will you tell me some things you’ve seen?”

 

“If you wish to know,” Solas replied, looking away and into the hole in the sky. He motioned for Mar to sit and joined him as they perched on the half-wall outside of his small shelter in Haven. Flurries of snow drifted around them as Solas started with the story of a brother and sister who’d gotten lost and the great bear that had found them -- and spared their lives.

 

The sun went low over the course of the tale until finally the cold was too much. Mar stood up, fingers gone pale and blue, shaking. “I’m going to sleep tonight thinking of how to do this myself, one day. You’ll show me, won’t you?”

 

Solas waved to him as he departed. “One day, then.”

 

Mar stopped. “Wait. Solas --” He turned back, and Solas stopped as he headed towards his front door. “Do you ever travel with anyone? Have you always been alone?”

 

“I’m rarely alone. There are many spirits in the fade.”

 

“I don’t mean spirits. I mean people.”

 

Solas’ eyebrows pulled back, jaw setting. “Spirits aren’t people?”

 

Mar tilted his head, eyes widening, like he’d never thought of it before. “Are they?”

 

Solas looked off, over what he could see from Haven at their vantage point. The flickering light of fires throughout the base lit up the various tents and aged wooden shelters that had been quickly crowding the yards. “What makes a person? Is Cassandra defined by her cheekbones and not her faith? Varric by his chest hair and not his wit?”

 

Mar laughed; a dry, sad sound. “Do you think, when I die, that my spirit will still have this mark?" He lifted his hand, glowing green. "Am I going to be defined by it?”

 

Solas turned to Mar with a jerk, taken aback. Mar stared down at his hand, brows pinching together. “Ir abelas, da’len. I cannot say,” Solas finally said.

 

Mar looked up again, face hardening, a mask to cover the fear, again. He turned back to leave once more, tucking his arms together to conserve warmth as he returned to the chantry. Solas watched him go.

 

* * *

 

It was a moment six years in the making.

 

Mar was certain he was going to die. He’d survived the confrontation with Corypheus, when he’d attacked with Templars that poured over the Frostback mountains, but now Haven was covered in an avalanche, and the survivors were long gone, and he was completely alone.

 

He was shivering, cold, and --

 

Angry.

 

He was going to die angry. He pushed forward through the snowdrifts, in the direction he was sure everyone had evacuated towards. The snow clung to his robes, melted against his boots. His collarbone was broken; he couldn’t move his arms without extraordinary pain. A rib or two had been shattered, Mar was sure.

 

His steps continued, but grew slower. And slower. It was so dark; he was surrounded by blackness and quiet.

 

He summoned magic into his hands and warmed himself and was able to go farther, just a bit. Just a bit.

 

He saw a lamp light.

 

Mar gasped. He stumbled forward, a rush burst forth from hope and adrenaline. Then he heard the voices, talking, barking, pleading, searching -- for him.

 

He felt energy drain from him, feet gone numb, just as he caught sight of Solas’ profile, lit by a wisp.

 

“Solas,” he said, and his voice was so weak, he was sure Solas couldn’t hear him. Mar felt himself sinking, falling to his knees.

 

Solas turned, just as Mar collapsed. His eyes widened. He turned to the others -- Cassandra, Cullen, Leliana, Iron Bull -- and said something inaudible. Mar’s eyes closed as relief flooded through his chest. “Mar,” Solas said. He felt hands on his arms, pulling him from the snow. Warm. “Lethallin. Stay awake.”

 

“Your Worship!” Cullen’s voice cut through. “Thank the Maker. You’re alive!”

 

“He’s cold,” Cassandra said. “Hurry. Back to camp.”

 

Mar opened his eyes much later and jerked, hissing in pain. It felt like he was being burned; like someone had set his foot on fire. He tried to pull his leg back but found it held steadfast by Solas. “Stop,” Mar croaked.

 

“It will hurt only for a moment,” Solas said, looking up. His hands were warming Mar’s bare skin with clinical efficiency. Someone had changed him from his snow-soaked robes into a warm and dry cotton gown.

 

Mar dropped his head back, eyes swimming. His fury was still brimming there beneath the surface. The canvas of the tent he’d been placed in rippled in the wind and he could hear the quiet sounds of the surviving group milling about outside. From the gray light that filtered in through the seam of the tent, Mar could see daylight was breaking. Finally.

 

“He plans to go in and kill god. The gods? Whoever he thinks is back there in the Fade,” Mar croaked. And though his voice was hoarse and quiet, it still was wrought in anger. “He’s a fucking lunatic.”

 

“Indeed,” Solas said. “Corypheus has a corrupted mind unlike any I’ve seen.” He moved onto Mar’s other leg and Mar cried out this time, the heat searing through the limb like wildfire. “Ir abelas, lethallin.”

 

Delirious with pain, Mar switched to Elven, too, and didn’t even realize it. _“I’m going to kill him.”_

 

 _“You speak of death while I hurt you,”_ Solas replied in kind, the language rolling off his tongue like second nature. He moved forward, taking Mar’s hand into both of his own, magic heating it. _“Should I be worried?”_

 

 _“I don’t think I could hurt you even if I wanted to,”_ Mar said.

 

_“Couldn’t or wouldn’t?”_

 

Mar rolled his eyes from the tent down to look at Solas as he worked. _“Oh. The truth?”_

 

_“Please.”_

 

_“Couldn’t. And you know it.”_

 

Solas’ lips thinned in a smile and he looked down at Mar’s hand. _“But what of Corypheus, then? Is he not stronger than me?”_

 

Mar sighed and dropped his head back down, eyes falling shut. The pain was ebbing away. Solas moved to the final limb, Mar’s left hand, where the anchor glowed green even now, unaware of its host’s exhaustion. _“I don’t care. I’ll kill him somehow.”_

 

Solas slid his palm down Mar’s arm, radiating heat.

 

When Solas’s palm slid against Mar’s, he closed his fingers, gently, and looked back to him with tired black eyes, golden skin gone pale and sick. “Hah’ren -- you’ll help. Won’t you?”

 

Solas went still, eyes roaming Mar’s face, allowing him the time to save the moment, to remember it when he recalled everything in the far future. And then he looked away, pulling his hand free, and stood up to leave. “Of course, da’len.”

 

* * *

 

It was a moment six years in the making.

 

Mar walked into the rotunda that Solas had made into his designated workspace to study, paint, and meditate. The space was warm, because the hearth was pressed against the back wall and created a radiating heat, and the space was quiet, because the stone bricks that made up the structure were solid and dense. It was one of the most pleasant places in Skyhold.

 

Solas had his back turned, staring up at the beginnings of a fresco, one hand perched beneath his chin in thought.

 

Mar collapsed into the single chair placed in the center of the space and sighed -- dramatically.

 

Solas smiled before turning around. “A monumental sigh. Are you tired, Inquisitor?”

 

Mar made a face and then sank down, until his head was pillowed by his arms on the table there. “You make fun of me.”

 

“Quite the opposite. What can I do to help?” Solas approached, and then pressed his hands to the tabletop, leaning over Mar, who stared up at him through white-blond lashes and round black eyes.

 

“I said it months ago, but --” Mar started, and then stopped, mouth clicking shut.

 

Solas blinked. “Yes?”

 

“Will you show me how to walk the Fade safely like you do?”

 

Solas’ eyebrows lowered over his eyes and then slowly, he smiled. “Da’len, you surprise me, again, and again. Every time.”

 

“I want to know, hah’ren. I’m crazy, but I think -- there are answers there.”

 

“That is not crazy,” Solas said.

 

“You find lots of answers there. That’s how you found Skyhold, isn’t it?” Mar’s eyes were arresting; on the edge of accusation. And so close to the truth of it all. They both knew it, that he was continually picking up clues, that he was on the precipice of understanding the rifts, the breach, Corypheus, and Solas, too -- all of it.

 

Solas turned away, back to the walls. He took a few steps forward, examining the textures there. “Indeed it was,” he said, finally. “I’m only surprised. No, curious. That you would want to walk the Fade, having been there once, already, in person. You said it wasn’t pleasant.”

 

“A flash of a memory that is half-broken and torn up inside my own head. I remember -- mountains and fire and massive creatures and a woman’s gentle hand. None of those things are necessarily -- bad.” Mar turned his head, words muffled into his arms as he rested against the tabletop. “I was scared.”

 

“And you want to go back.”

 

“I want to see what you’ve seen, hah’ren,” Mar mumbled. He heard Solas walk back towards him.

 

There was hesitation that hung thick in the air. And then, slowly, gently, Solas’ hand slipped onto the bare skin of Mar’s neck, fingers sliding into the fine hairs that fell from the braid he wore. Mar turned his head, and Solas was crouched down beside him. “I’ll show you. Maybe somewhere with better scenery, though.”

 

They shared a smile.

 

Mar walked up the steps of Haven, Solas at his side. He looked from tent to tent and then up to the great breach in the sky, pulsing green. “Here?”

 

“This place means a lot to you,” Solas said.

 

“I --” Mar felt a pulse of shame and pressed a hand to his chest. “I lost it. I lost. I failed.”

 

“Is that what you think?” Solas asked.

 

Mar nodded.

 

“Come,” Solas beckoned.

 

They approached the chantry. The space so far was devoid of people -- they were the only ones roaming empty halls, feet echoing quietly with each step, until they walked down into the dungeons where Mar had first woken up, months ago.

 

“I watched over you here while you slept, studying the anchor.”

 

Mar walked into the small cold pit where he had been left. “That must have been a short study. Here’s an unconscious elf. His hand looks weird. Oh well. Hope he doesn’t die!”

 

Solas scoffed. “There was a giant breach blown into the sky and your glowing green hand seemed to be the only connection to it. Believe me -- I spent as much time poring over it as I possibly could. And yet the answers eluded me. I searched the Fade, I pressed my magic into it, and into you. You woke up once, when I did.”

 

Mar turned around and faced Solas again. He squinted at him and the memory, the one where he saw Solas for the first time, blinked into existence.

 

_“What --” Mar said, voice cracked, under eyes dark, face pulled in strain._

 

_“Are you awake?” Solas asked._

 

_“Hurts --” Mar breathed out, lifting his hand. The anchor crackled and exploded out briefly, and Mar cried out, arching back. “Please --”_

 

_Solas pressed hands to Mar’s face. “Ashir, da’len. Ir abelas,” he breathed out, and pulled the consciousness from Mar, letting him fall back into peace. After the space grew quiet again, Solas sat back on his heels and whispered, “Fenedhis.”_

 

The memory bled away, until Mar and Solas were standing back in the dungeon again, quiet.

 

Solas was the first to speak. “Cassandra threatened to have me hanged if I couldn’t find any answers to it. To you.”

 

“Well, Cassandra threatens to hang most people she meets, at first.”

 

“I suppose so,” Solas said, and he laughed.

 

“You should have kept me awake, then. Gotten what you could have out of me.”

 

“Yes, well --” Solas looked away, and Mar tried to follow his face, but Solas turned to leave. “I couldn’t bear to see you in so much pain, after...” His voice trailed.

 

Mar followed Solas as he left the dungeon. “After what?”

 

“I wouldn’t be responsible for hurting you more than this. Honestly -- I thought you lost. You were a mortal who’d gone through the Fade. I’ve never heard of such a thing; it seemed impossible. I thought it best to let you die in your sleep. And I had resolved myself to flee.”

 

“You were going to go? To where? The breach would reach you eventually.”

 

They approached the shelter where Solas had stayed during his time at Haven. “I’d go as far as I needed to, for as much time as I could have. But still, I thought -- I’d try once more. Once more to close the rifts. And then I’d go. But then --”

 

Another memory expanded there.

 

_Mar stood on a boulder above a fight, the first fight with Cassandra, Varric, and Solas, against a pile of demons that screeched and snarled as they emerged from the glowing rift above them. The anchor in Mar’s hand exploded with force, yanking him forward, until he was at Solas’ side._

 

_Solas seemed shocked to see him standing, and then his eyes narrowed in focus, and he grabbed Mar’s arm. “Quickly! Before more come through!”_

 

_The rift closed. Solas stared at Mar, the thin, weakened form of a Dalish elf. His hair swept across his face, shorter back then at their first meeting. He looked young. Frightened._

 

_But he glowed._

 

The memory faded, leaving Mar and Solas standing in Haven once more.

 

“I felt everything change,” Solas said.

 

Mar tipped his head up, staring.

 

Solas looked down into Mar’s face. “A figure of speech.”

 

“Is it?” Mar said, tone quiet. He’d been picking up the pieces of the puzzle from day one, and he gathered this one, too.

 

Solas knew. It was written in his dark gray eyes, in the line between his brows. “You’re too close, lethallin,” he said. 

 

They stood inches apart. Mar could read the decision in Solas’ mind, the same way he’d seen him pick an attack when they were out fighting demons, or Templars, or mages. He made his choice, and he lifted a hand to trace the Vallaslin on Mar’s high cheekbone --

 

The breach high in the sky above Haven shrieked, expanding again, like it always did. Mar jerked back reflexively, like he always did, because his anchor would then grip him in agony in the same instant. But no pain came, and he lifted his palm.

 

The anchor was gone.

 

He looked wildly to Solas, who held the back of Mar’s hand. “You don’t have it here.”

 

“Here?” Mar asked, and then realized, in the same instant -- “We’re in the Fade.” He took a step back, eyes falling back over Haven. Over the mountains, across the drifts of snow. He turned once, looking at it all with real clarity. “This isn’t real.”

 

“That’s a matter of debate,” Solas said, gently, stepping backwards, too. “Perhaps one we should have when you --”

 

_Wake up._

 

Mar sat up in his bed at Skyhold, heart thundering, blood rushing through his ears.

 

* * *

 

It was a moment six years in the making.

 

Fire burned in his lungs, filling him inside, and Mar couldn’t breathe. His eyes watered as he held it in and let it fill his veins, his gut, his mind, until it was too much, and he was going to burst from the seams.

 

He exhaled and the swath of smoke poured from his lips, white and scented like grass. His joints turned to jelly and Mar found himself absolutely sinking into the cushion he’d been given to relax on the floor.

 

They were getting high.

 

Josephine smiled down to Mar. “Comfortable, Inquisitor?”

 

“Don’t call me that when I’m stoned,” Mar mumbled.

 

“Alright, Ser Lavellan.”

 

Mar wrinkled his nose, displeased, and that got a full chuckle from her. Solas handed the pipe to Josie, seemingly unaffected by the the thing, still propped up on the bench at the top of the Tavern. It was very late -- or very early, depending on who you asked -- and the place was empty and dark, save for their little corner.

 

Josephine glanced around nevertheless. “Tell no one,” she said.

 

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Mar replied. He sighed, eyes falling shut. He felt like a deflated balloon, but in the best way; it was like he’d been stretched so much, filled so completely, that he thought he’d explode, he’d pop -- but not now.

 

It’d started when he mentioned off-handedly to Josephine that he didn’t drink, no. Well, okay, sometimes he would drink, but it wasn’t how he chose to unwind. No, he said. His clan entertained themselves more with godweed. Josephine gave him a scandalized gasp and said that such things were very uncommon -- and greatly disapproved of -- in Ferelden and in Orlais.

 

She had shown up the next night with a pipe of it in hand. And now she smoked from it delicately, looking wildly out of place with her carefully braided hair and silk blouse, sitting on the floor with a pile of cushions that might have been stolen from Sera earlier that night.

 

When she put the pipe down, Mar said, “Thank you.”

 

“It was such a simple request," Josephine said, coughing, "And I knew where to look.”

 

Mar laughed softly and pushed himself to his elbows. He looked up to Solas. “I’m surprised you’re here.”

 

“Are you?”

 

“Smoking weed is such a Dalish thing. And I know you. And how you get around Dalish custom.” Mar raised an eyebrow and it made him look even younger than usual, with his impish nose turned up as it was.

 

“And perhaps this is one of the things they got right,” Solas said. “Ancient elves would smoke for pleasure, back when they lived lives of leisure, and in peace, when they could lounge much like you do now, on piles of silken pillows.”

 

“Saw that in the Fade, did you?” Mar said, looking patently unimpressed.

 

Solas just smirked in response.

 

Josie worked to loosen the sleeves of her blouse. “Inquisitor --”

 

“Mar,” he corrected.

 

“You’ve let your hair grow long,” she said, undeterred.

 

Mar reached up.

 

“When I first met you,” Josephine said, gesturing into the air like she was painting a portrait of him in her mind, “Your hair was short. Boyish, really. Has it been so long now, that your hair…”

 

“A year, hasn’t it been?” Mar asked.

 

“Indeed it has,” Solas agreed, crossing one ankle over his knee, still perched above them both on his bench.

 

“Time has gone by so quickly. I always admire your braid from afar,” Josephine said. “You’re quite good at it.”

 

Mar reached up and loosened his hair from it, so it fell in limp waves down his back instead, stopping short of his shoulderblades. “I should cut it.”

 

“No -- really?” Josephine said. “You might look quite young again.”

 

“Well, I am only twenty-two,” he said, grinning.

 

“Yes, indeed you are, Inquisitor.”

 

“I’m not the Inquisitor right now, in this moment,” Mar said, drawing the words out slowly. “I am Mar.”

 

“I’ve wondered about that,” Solas said, sinking down to prop his chin up on one hand. “Mar.”

 

“Yes?”

 

“Josephine, are you familiar with Elven language?” Solas said, turning to her.

 

“Ah, eh, not as such,” she replied, face growing red. “I apologize.”

 

“Mar, in Elvish, means ‘yours.’ It’s an unusual name,” Solas explained.

 

“Solas means pride,” Mar added. “But that’s not very unusual.”

 

Solas tilted his head. “I wonder how you came to the name.”

 

“My parents spoke terrible Elvish,” Mar said. “Mar Lavellan, what I would be called. They thought it would be --” He sat up properly, foot bumping the pipe so it skittered away a bit. Josie fetched it dutifully. “The one who owns Lavellan. Like I’d sound as if I were leader of the clan.”

 

“Ah. Because Mar is a possessive.”

 

“Yes. Instead, it sounds like --” Mar licked his lips, “When I introduce myself, that I’m telling them…” he trailed off, leaving the implication in the air.

 

“Oh my,” Josephine said, catching on. “It sounds like you’re hitting on them!”

 

“Yes, usually. Hello. I’m yours.” Mar leaned in, pitching his voice low, ears pulled back, eyes glinting in the dark. “Fuck me.”

 

Josie gasped. “Ser Lavellan!” And then she laughed, shocked. Mar laughed too, and looked up to see Solas smiling almost languidly. The first signs the godweed had even affected him at all.

 

“My parents were fools. They couldn’t have done what the other parents did in the clan, and named me for one of the gods, no.”

 

“Children in your clan were named for the Evanuris?” Solas asked.

 

“Myta, for Mythal. Fadin, for Falon’Din. So on.”

 

Josephine waved her hand. “No. That is strange to me -- to be named after divinity? It’s nearly offensively egotistical to call yourself Andraste.”

 

“Well, it helps that I don’t worship them,” Mar said, scoffing.

 

“Oh, I see. I thought --” Josephine’s eyes strayed blatantly to Mar’s tattoos. “The Vallaslin, I thought, meant that you, ah, worship that god.”

 

Mar snorted and went to lay back on his pillow again. “Hardly. Mythal just seemed -- the best of them, from the stories. But no. I don’t believe in her -- or any of the others.”

 

“You’ve no faith at all?” Josephine pressed, scooting in closer now. “I mean, you worship nothing?”

 

“If they were real? But maybe not even then.” Mar rolled his eyes. “Show me a god who is wise but kind, strong but who feeds the hungry -- someone that would free all slaves -- show me that god, and I’d worship him, then.” Mar closed his eyes, body limp, relaxed, deeply in peace. “He could take me, body and soul.” He exhaled, staring into the blackness of his own eyelids. "I'd suck that god's dick."

 

Josephine gasped girlishly, but there was an audible thwack as Solas’ head collided clumsily against the beam that framed the corner where they sat. Mar and Josie sat up straight. “Are you alright?” she asked.

 

Solas, wincing, pressed a hand to his head. “Quite fine. I slipped.”

 

Mar caught his gaze, held it there, but said nothing.

 

“Hm --” Josie said, oblivious to the look. She wiggled her fingers mid-air. “So, from what I’ve learned tonight -- in Elvish. I can say ‘your pride.’ Mar solas. Mar Solas. How funny. That is what it means, yes?”

 

“Mar solas,” Solas said, gaze steady and unmoving. “Your pride. Yes.”

 

It wasn’t much later, only a month beyond that night, that Mar and Solas found themselves in the Fade, trapped with the demon Nightmare, who called out to them with their deepest fears. The spawn taunted each member of the Inquisition, hissing cruelty to Dorian, to Varric, and then to Solas.

 

His deep, echoing voice rang out, trembling the earth: “Mar solas ena mar din.”

 

Mar swung around in shock to look at Solas. “Banal nadas,” Solas said evenly in response. Mar’s brows pinched together.

 

“Solas.  _What isn’t inevitable?”_ Mar asked, in Elvish.

 

Solas had no reply. And then more darkspawn appeared and Mar had no questions; only a duty to free them from the Fade.

 

* * *

 

It was a moment six years in the making.

 

They had travelled together for three days, just them alone, down the mountain that held Skyhold, and into a valley below that was filled with waterfalls and --

 

“Ah. More elven ruins,” Mar said. “Has anyone ever told you that you’re obsessed, hah’ren?” Together, they walked through a carved entry in stone and into a clearing that had great silver statues, twinkling beneath the mist of a waterfall and the moon overhead.

 

“I might’ve heard it once or twice, da’len,” Solas said, smiling.

 

“Well,” Mar said, walking out ahead of him, looking at the space -- it was flush, green, and beautiful. It wasn’t even very cold there, despite the icy water running of the mountain. “It’ll do, then.”

 

“I was trying to find some way to say what you mean to me,” Solas said. When Mar turned around to face him, Solas sighed, as if disappointed. “I’ve never -- no. I’ve thought it so many times, but to put it into words… I’ve walked this world and hundreds more in the Fade. I’ve met spirits and demons in an abundance. But you -- your spirit. It’s rare, lethallin. And marvelous.”

 

Mar walked up, boots pressed softly against the damp grass as he moved. “You’re my best friend too, Solas.”

 

Solas reached out, slowly, and cupped a hand gently against Mar’s cheek. He looked -- hurt.

 

Mar tilted his head and he smiled. The same smile he had used in all the three years they had spent together, in the Inquisition. At Haven, at Skyhold, all over Thedas. It worked like it always had, and the pain faded from Solas’ face.

 

“I cannot offer much,” Solas said, “But I can offer the truth.” He stepped back.

 

“Ah,” Mar said, and his smile grew wider. “You’re going to tell me, then.”

 

“Tell you?” Solas glanced over his shoulder as he made his way to the pond at the far end of the clearing.

 

“I’m on the cusp of it. I have been, for a long time,” Mar said. “You _know_ I know.”

 

Solas was struck still.

 

“You’ve said yourself that I’m quite smart. What was it just now?” Mar approached him, until he stood in front of Solas, arms folded. “A rare and marvelous spirit.”

 

“Venavis,” Solas said. He reached up with both hands this time. Silence stretched between them as Solas’ hands hung there, between them, as if deciding to reach out and touch Mar’s face. Finally, gently, he said, “The Vallaslin mark you as a slave.”

 

Mar reached up, as a reflex, and placed his hands on the markings on his cheek. “You… What do you mean? They’re symbols representing the gods,” he said, dumbly.

 

An edge of a smile appeared on Solas’ face. “Yes, that much is true. Slave owners would mark their slaves with the gods they worshipped.”

 

“Kaffas,” Mar said, dropping his head back.

 

“Too much time with Dorian,” Solas said, but he sounded amused.

 

“It just sounds better than shit. Or even fenedhis.”

 

Solas scoffed in response.

 

“So I'm Mythal’s slave, then. That’s what it looks like.” Mar found it hard to look Solas in the eyes, focusing instead on the grass, the stone, and the water that surrounded them. “No wonder you were so upset at what I’d done at the well.”

 

“Indeed,” Solas said. “But I know a spell to take the Vallaslin away. I could, if you wished it.”

 

Ah, and that was _the wrong thing to say_ , and Solas realized it as soon as the words left his mouth. Mar’s eyes went razor sharp, instantly. “Yes. You would know such a spell, wouldn’t you?”

 

Solas squared his jaw and declined to respond.

 

“How did you learn something like this, hah’ren? A spell to remove slave markings? The Fade, again?”

 

“Indeed,” he said, voice quiet.

 

“I can only imagine the magic you watched, you studied, to learn how to do such a thing.” Mar took a step forward; their chests nearly touched. “The sort of mage that would know magic to free slaves -- he was an Elven mage, no doubt, yes?”

 

Solas, again, declined to respond.

 

Every piece of the puzzle before now was laid out before Mar. He knew what he saw; he was only angry it took so long. “He was powerful, I’m sure. An Elven mage who took it upon himself to free those bound to masters. Isn’t that right?”

 

Silence stretched on.

 

Mar switched to Elvish as if on instinct. _“Will you tell me nothing, Solas?”_

 

 _“I’ve told you more than most. More than any,”_ he said.

 

A glint of light passed over Mar’s face and finally he turned away. “Remove them.” When Solas didn’t move, Mar looked back and motioned to his face. “The Vallaslin.” And then more quietly, he said, “I am not a slave.”

 

“It was selfish of me to hurt you in this way,” Solas said, stepping forward. “I’m sorry. Please sit.”

 

Mar did, kneeling, and Solas did too. Blue magic filled his hands. Mar watched him as he lifted his hands over Mar’s face. “How will I even explain it to everyone else?”

 

“You shouldn’t have to,” Solas said, hands still moving, gently, barely touching the surface of Mar’s face.

 

“I’ll tell them it was your gift to me. That you took me to this place beneath a waterfall, surrounded by the relics of our fallen world, and touched me with magic.”

 

“You make it sound quite romantic.”

 

Mar smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “It is, Solas, lethallin.”

 

Solas finished, light fading from his fingers. “I suppose it is.”

 

* * *

 

It was a moment six years in the making.

 

Mar walked through the great mirror eluvian and into a yard of stone. He stumbled backwards, nearly stumbling into the frozen statue of a qunari warrior. One of the very same warriors that had walked in seconds -- mere _seconds_ \-- before him.

 

The yard was quiet. There was the sound of a distant waterfall. The whistling of wind.

 

The dearth of stone warriors, all gripped in the throes of battle for eternity, pointed Mar along an obvious path -- as if they were turned to stone while someone walked by. Each warrior tilted more than the last, up a set of stairs.

 

He rushed to the top just in time to see the last warrior frozen in a scream, great magic building up from her feet and rushing until she was nothing but stone. And Solas walked away.

 

Solas, who Mar hadn’t seen in almost three years. Solas, who had left Mar alone. Solas --

 

Mar's heart seized in his chest. A small but strong-willed part of him, the only part not begging to reach out, kept Mar frozen in place. He would let him go. Let him _go_. Because he couldn't do this again; he couldn't have an aborted farewell, he couldn't hear that voice call him da'len, again. It was agony to consider. It was agony to just stand there and let Solas walk away. 

 

But the anchor gripped him then, like it did often now, and Mar's resolution to remain quiet found an end. He fell to his knees with an involuntary scream. The pain was blinding, deafening; life-crushing. Mar was dying and he knew it.

 

Solas turned. “Hello, da’len.”

 

The anchor’s pain ebbed enough for Mar to look up through sweat-streaked hair, trembling in agony. “Hello, Fen’Harel,” he managed to say, but the words were weak and not at all laced with the anger he'd been bottling for so long. The anchor sparked again and he bit his lip to muffle the cry that ripped from his throat, doubling over.

 

There was a hum of magic and suddenly -- very suddenly -- the pain was gone.

 

Mar was left panting against the stone pavers. Slowly, he pushed himself up to standing. He looked down at his blackened palm and then to Solas again.

 

“That will give us more time. I suspect you have questions,” Solas said.

 

“The anchor is killing me,” Mar said, arms and legs trembling as he stood. “Tell me how to stop it, hah'ren.”

 

“The mark was given to you by my orb. The orb of Fen'Harel. I’m able to control it the same way I could at Haven. In Skyhold.” Solas looked out over the yard, at the glut of statues. “But I’m stronger now; much stronger than I was back then. Nevertheless, it will kill you unless it's removed.”

 

With the pain gone, Mar's mind was clearing bit by bit. “You were a god,” Mar barked, stepping forward.

 

"No," Solas said. "The Evanuris were not gods."

 

“You mocked me. For years, you watched. Mocking me. Mocking what little power I had. Did you laugh when I tried to change things? When I used magic incorrectly, when I fumbled to learn even the most basic things that you've already known for thousands of years?” He switched to Elvish then, _"Do you think the way I speak our language is amusing? The way I use broken words? Did you look down on me when you realized I couldn't read a word of it?"_

 

“I did no such thing,” Solas said. His face was an impassive mask, in opposition to what he said. “I wouldn’t. Ever. You’re -- I care more for _you_ than most anything.”

 

“You could have told me,” Mar said. He lifted a hand accusingly. "You should have."

 

“I told you more than anyone, lethallin," Solas said, jaw tightening. "I am Solas. I have been Solas for all my life. Fen'Harel, the name, came later. It was given to me by the false gods. It was a title meant to mock me. But I wore the name as a badge of pride, in actuality. It put fear in my enemies. It gave hope to my followers,” Solas said. "Much the way the title Inquisitor does for you. But I am what I've shown you. I am _Solas_."

 

"Lies came as easily to you as the Dalish stories claim," Mar said. "You're more Fen'Harel than you think, Solas."

 

The corner of his mouth ticked up. “You knew so much, so quickly.”

 

“I don't know it all. I don't know -- I --" Mar felt his focus slipping. Solas was so close now; he could reach out to touch him this way. "Tell me how this happened.”

 

“I had slept for many ages and through many wars. I woke still weak a year before I joined you. But before then…” He looked off. “Back, long ago, in the time of elves -- I banished the Evanuris. I created the veil.”

 

Mar clicked his tongue. “The entire veil. You created -- the _entire_ veil.”

 

Solas looked to him, blinking. “Is that surprising?”

 

“This massive force, a barrier that surrounds this entire world, that keeps Thedas separate from the Fade --” Mar motioned up and around himself. “You made it alone. And it’s a prison for gods?”

 

“For the Evanuris, yes.” Solas looked as if he tasted something sour.

 

Mar went still and the look of recognition dawned on his face. “And it’s a prison to you.” Solas held his arms behind his back and looked out across the yard, at the stone warrior qunari that he'd blinked away from threat just like that. “You wish to destroy the veil because it’s your prison as much as it is for the Evanuris. You’re trapped here, cut off from the Fade. That's why you walk it in your dreams every night.”

 

“If I had known what it did --” Solas started, and then stopped himself. Mar should have laughed at it: Solas was homesick. But he couldn't; instead, he felt his gut twist. He wanted --

 

Focus, his mind whispered. “Why did you banish them?”

 

“They would have destroyed the world.”

 

Mar’s eyes narrowed and Solas had enough tact to take a subtle step away. “Much the way _you_ did. Much the way you plan to do now, correct?”

 

“No. Not like that at all, no,” Solas said.

 

The last ribbon of control snapped. “Then tell me!” Mar screamed, stepping forward, rage exploding from him, voice hoarse in anguish.

 

“I will tear down the veil and as _this_ world is lost to raw chaos, I will restore the world of _my_ time. A world of elves.” Solas met Mar’s fury with a booming voice of his own. “You cannot comprehend it! I awoke in a world where the veil had blocked most people’s conscious connection to the Fade. It was like walking through a world of tranquil, lethallin!”

 

“I am not tranquil,” Mar shouted in return. "I am a person, a mage, an _elf_ \--"

 

“Not you,” Solas said, and he lifted his hand as if to touch Mar's face. He dropped it instead. “Not...you. But this world --” His face screwed up in frustration and finally, he sighed, shoulders sagging. “It doesn’t matter. It doesn’t change this. It doesn’t make this any easier. I haven't a choice but to try to correct the mistakes I've made in the past.”

 

“Then kill me,” Mar said, voice gone quiet again. "Correct _this one_."

 

“What?”

 

“Kill me,” Mar said, stepping forward.

 

“Da’len, please --”

 

Mar switched to Elvish, then. The ache of his chest flooded him with hurt; he couldn't bear to hear Solas call him that. Da'len. Mar pushed forward until he grabbed the fur of Solas’ top, gripping it between his fingers. _“Kill me, Solas! You’ve shown me no kindness before now."_ His voice cracked. His hands were weak; he was dying. If not of the mark, then of how much it hurt to be left like he was. _"I am owed this from you. Everything you’ve done to me -- you’ve marked me with this hand that hurts me every hour of every day. You’ve made me a martyr of a group, the Inquisition, set to march forward without my wishing. You’ve broken my heart again -- and again -- and again --”_ Tears welled in his eyes and the pain he felt inside himself was worse, far worse, than the pain of the anchor. _“_ This life you’ve already ruined. So take it. Kill me.” A tear slid down his cheek, and then another, and he felt like he was on the edge of falling from a great cliff.

 

Perhaps he'd find peace at the bottom.  _It was a moment six years in the making._

 

Finally, Solas moved. “I won’t.” Solas stepped forward, closing the slight distance between them, and his warm hands slid up to Mar’s jaw, into his hair. “Ar lath ma,” he whispered. _I love you._

 

It was a moment six years in the making when they kissed for the first time.

 

All of the light and all of the air had gone out in the world. Nothing existed beyond this. The kiss. Mar’s hands slid from the front of Solas’ robes, over his shoulders, holding himself there, on the edge of the cliff. He didn't want to let go --

 

"Solas," Mar breathed out against Solas' mouth, the name a prayer on his lips. And then they kissed again, and Mar let go. A soft, pleading sound rumbled his chest. Their tongues touched --

 

And then the pain returned. It burst out of the anchor like it was furious it’d been banned at all, and Mar found himself crumpled on the ground in seconds, gripping his wrist with one hand. Solas took a short step backwards, pressing a hand to his mouth, eyes wide. Surprised. And then determined.

 

“One reason I lured you here,” Solas said, voice hoarse, “Was to spare your life from this.” He held out his palm. "Take my hand."

 

Mar looked up to him. There was no hesitation in him now. “No.”

 

“You must,” Solas said, hand held out insistently.

 

“Let me go with the anchor, Solas,” he said, carefully, breath coming out in harsh pants. “Or kill me.”

 

Solas looked lost. “I don't want that, lethallin."

 

Mar swallowed and grit his teeth, pushing himself to standing once more. “Then what? What do you want?”

 

It was true he had been cruel. He had. He’d taken all he could from Mar, and even more, still. Mar saw the resolve in Solas’ eyes before he spoke the words aloud. “I want you.”

 

Mar looked up at him from behind pinched brows. His heart beat once, like a warning drum, but he didn't have the chance to reply.

 

“Ir abelas,” Solas said. “It will be the last thing I take.” He reached out and pulled the consciousness from Mar, stepping forward just in time to catch his fall.

  
The world went dark around the Inquisitor as he was pulled up into a hold within Solas’ arms. He walked away from the garden of stone qunari and into the Eluvian into another place. He would be there when Solas tore down the veil. He would be there in the new world.

 

That is where the Dread Wolf would take him.

**Author's Note:**

> Ultimately, I wanted to write a romance that isn't the pure love you see in the game. 
> 
> In canon, Solas lets his lover go -- because it's the kind thing to do. Because he loves her. He couldn't bear to see her suffer while he does what he has to in order to destroy the veil. What they feel is genuine and carefully founded and even more carefully disassembled at the end.
> 
> This is not that kind of love. Solas and Mar have a relationship built almost entirely on a game and on tension neither one chooses to discuss. It left Solas distant enough from Mar to make a final and cruel choice to capture him, to bring him along on this journey.
> 
> I may or may not add a second part (and more). There's much more to talk about in their story. We'll see! Thank you for reading.


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